Clara
Clara, a Berlin-based artist, contributes a hauntingly resonant series of works to Water Me, the recent group exhibition at ZIRKA’S Aquarium Space. Her Piece, Aqua Alta, dives into the environmental vulnerability of Venice, a city slowly being consumed by the element it's most associated with. We sat down to speak about the origins of her project, her use of texture and technique, and how darkness becomes a generative force in her creative process.
How did your involvement in Water Me come about?
The curator, Maria “Pia” Napolitano de Majo, was looking for artists whose work addressed environmental issues, particularly transformations of elements. At the time, I had just completed a body of work called Aqua Alta—named after the high waters in Venice—and it ended up perfectly aligning with the theme. The pieces were already finished, and they fit the concept of the show, especially the directness of the title, Water Me.
And these pieces on display were created prior to the exhibition?
Yes, exactly, that’s what made this opportunity feel quite special. The works were already in existence, and thematically they just clicked.
The exhibition addresses structures—social, ecological, even internal—that are in decline or in need of reimagining. How does that resonate with your work?
The technique I used is itself a form of degradation. The images were printed, then transferred to canvas using glue. Once that dried, I applied water and gently peeled the image off. It’s labor-intensive—my fingers were bleeding by the end—and the result I always partially destroyed. Some parts of the image were lost entirely, so I leaned into that fragility and added another layer of decay using green patina over bronze paint. When the patina met the metallic surface, it oxidized and changed color, further distorting the image. So, both the subject and the process involve breakdown but also transformation.
Were the architectural references in the work drawn from specific locations?
Yes. All the images are iconic landmarks from Venice—like the Basilica of San Marco and the Doge’s Palace. I intentionally used mundane or touristy images, the kind you’d find on a postcard. I wanted to contrast their familiarity with the unsettling context of rising waters. Venice is loved, visited, and photographed endlessly—but it's literally sinking. The contrast between beauty and collapse is central to this work.
Do you usually work with texture, or was this new for you?
This series was quite different. Normally, I work with thick oil paints and impasto surfaces, so texture is a major part of my practice. These pieces, by contrast, are very flat. I used watercolors, pencil, chalk… but no real physical texture. Any texture that appears is visual, especially from oxidation. So yes, it was a departure and a real challenge for me.
Some viewers could interpret Water Me as pessimistic. Does darkness play a role in your work?
Always. But I try not to linger in it. Darkness is a startling point, not the end. When I visited Venice, I saw a painting by Hieronymus Bosch—Visions of the Hereafter—which deeply moved me. It traces a journey from paradise, and how we’re watching it slip away because of our own actions. Climate change is already happening. So yes, my work often begins with darkness—but I believe that confronting it can also reveal light.